Cars and Commercials
by Ainaof
Summary: A funny little one-shot about what the Impala does while Dean is away. Or so one might imagine.


Just a little quickie about what the Impala gets up to while Dean is *ahem* otherwise engaged. And what Dean might think about it if he knew. Pretty humorous (I hope), a lot pointless, and a result of the twisted little path my brain went down. Hope you have fun with it! Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: Only the idea for the story is mine. Spn belongs to the writers, actors, producers, and crew that bring it to life - bless 'em. Any mistakes are mine. I didn't want to bug my fabulous beta with silly stuff - she's busy. Thanks Tams!

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><p>Cars and Commercials<p>

Dean cruised down the road, enjoying the early morning air sweeping through the Impala's open windows. He was driving too fast, but it didn't matter. A deserted road, beautiful weather. Nothing could mess this up. Oddly, Sam wasn't riding shotgun. Dean spared a moment of worry for that, until his brain reminded him he was on his way to pick up Sam.

_From where?_ His brain asked.

_Shut up_, another part of his brain responded.

_Sweetie, you really shouldn't be talking to yourself._ The Impala's sexy rumble echoed through his head.

"Whoa. When did you start talking in my head?" Dean asked out loud.

_I've always spoken to you. You just weren't listening._ There was a pause. _Well, you sort of listened, maybe it's better to say you didn't always understand as clearly as you do now._

"This is trippy. I'm dreaming." He paused, thought about it, and said, "No. I dream about hot chicks and Hell." Dean scowled. "Dammit, Gabriel, I thought you were dead. Ollie ollie oxen free, you dick, come out come out wherever you are."

There was a rumble in the engine that sounded suspiciously like a huffed breath. _The archangel is dead. This isn't one of his tricks. We need to talk._

"Ohh...kay. About what?"

_I think I'm getting sick._

Immediately, Dean pulled over to the side of the road and jumped out of the Impala. He ran to the front and popped the hood.

"Baby, what's wrong? Tell me what's making you sick." He looked for leaks, checked seals and fluid levels.

The engine sputtered as the voice said, _I'm going to hurl_.

Dean stepped back from the grille. "You can't puke. You're a car."

_Says you_, his baby told him, then promptly expelled about a gallon of oil and engine sludge from the depth of the motor.

"Son of a bitch... what is going on here? What's wrong with you?" Dean dropped to his knees and peered at the undercarriage.

_I haven't felt right in a few weeks. Since Montana. _The Impala's voice was the squeal of worn brake pads in his head.

"Montana. The wendigo we took out? How could a wendigo hurt you?"

_Who said the wendigo had anything to do with it? I think it had more to do with the blonde that you went home with for the night._

A quick smirk crossed Dean's face. "Felicia. Or Fiona? Anyway, she was fun. And bendy. Very bendy."

More fluid spewed from beneath the car, some landing on Dean's foot.

"Hey, warn a guy!" He jumped away.

_Anyway,_ the Impala's engine coughed, then the voice continued, _while you were inside enjoying the fabulously flexible Felicia, or whatever the hussy's name was, I sat outside in the cold driveway, getting rained on and being bored._

"I..." Dean paused and ran his hand through his hair. "I have no clue what to say. I'm sorry?"

_Uh-huh._ The windshield wipers flipped on and off. _The important part is that while you were busy tasting Fiona's fruits, I spent some quality time with her baby. We kept each other company. We kept each other warm. And we weren't exactly careful, if you catch my drift._

"Her car? You spent time with her car?" Shock laced Dean's voice.

_Really? With everything I said, that's the information you latch onto? Honestly, Dean, I love you, but there are times when I wish you could focus just a little better. _There was a hiss as steam shot from beneath the radiator cap.

"Wait. What?" Dean stopped and rewound what his baby said. The color drained from his face and he gulped. "Are you saying that you're pregnant? I'm going to be a father?"

_Well, yes and no._

"Which part is yes and which is no?" He braced his hands on the top of the grille.

_Yes, I think I'm pregnant. But no, it isn't yours. How could it be? You're a human. I'm a car. Really, that doesn't even make any sense._ The windshield wipers flipped on and off again. Dean got the distinct impression his baby was rolling her eyes at him.

"Sure. Right. Because the rest of this makes so much frickin' sense. You are talking in my head. About being pregnant! Oh, and news flash – you're a car!"

_It's not like this is the strangest thing that's happened to you. Or to me, for that matter. Remember when Sam got turned into me for a while?_

"That was the trickster." He glanced around. "Are you sure that isn't what's happening now? I swear, Gabriel, if this is your sick idea of a joke..."

_The trickster is dead. I'm pregnant. We need to deal with the issue at hand. Focus, Dean!_

"Right. My car is pregnant. And I'm not the father. This is insane." He went back to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. Forehead resting on the wheel, he said, "Remind me again, what kind of car did Ms. Bendy drive?"

_Kind of car? Well, probably wasn't what you'd want for me. Or what you'd expect. But it doesn't matter. He was cute and sweet. He's not the issue. _The Impala's door shut and the engine rumbled to life.

Dean slammed his foot down on the brake. "Freeze. What kind of car?"

_Fine. He was an American Motors Corporation model._

Dean sifted through cars in his head, trying to match up company to car makes. Finally, he had it. "No. Please, no." He banged his forehead against the steering wheel. "Not one of them."

_Yes. One of them. He was an AMC Gremlin, okay! Now, what are we going to do?_

"NO!" Dean shouted even as he sat bolt upright in the motel bed.

From the other bed, Sam jumped up, gun drawn. He flipped the light on when he found no immediate danger.

"You okay, Dean? You're shaking. And pale." Sam sat on his bed and put the gun on the pillow. "Hey. What was it, a bad dream?"

"A horrible dream." Dean shuddered.

"Hell?" Sam asked quietly.

"No. The Impala. Was pregnant. And it wasn't mine." Dean looked miserably at his brother.

Sam choked as he inhaled too quickly, coughing to clear his throat. Then he started laughing.

"It wasn't funny! My baby was... she was defiled." Dean scowled at him.

"Relax. You were dreaming. The car isn't pregnant, with your baby, or anybody else's. Go back to sleep, okay?" Sam shoved the gun back beneath the pillow and crawled under the blankets. He stretched and shut the light off.

"Easy for you to say." Dean threw off the covers and padded to the motel window.

Muffled by covers, Sam's voice reached him, "It wasn't mine, was it?"

"No! Stop being stupid. It was a Gremlin, okay?" Dean pulled the curtain back and looked at the Impala, parked in front of their room. She gleamed in the moonlight.

"A gremlin like the movie monsters, or the car?"

"The car, you idiot. How would the movie monsters get her pregnant?"

Behind him, Sam snorted, then laughed again.

Dean was about to yell at him when a car drove past the motel. Its lights reflected against one of the Impala's headlamps, making it look the black muscle car was winking at him. He flinched and dropped the curtain.

"Shut up, Sam. Was just a dream. They don't have to make sense." Dean climbed back into bed. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of Jack. After a long swig, he said, "Go back to sleep."

"You too, Dean. No more bad dreams." There was a rustling sound as Sam got comfortable.

Dean sat straight in bed, staring out into the darkened room. Finally, he was ready to try and get back to sleep. He settled against the pillow and closed his eyes.

From the darkness, Sam's voice, tinged with laughter, asked, "Was it the lime green Gremlin? Like in the old tv commercial?"

Dean groaned and slapped his hands over his face. "Just. Kill. Me. Now," he said.


End file.
